


Shelter Me

by jerobitaille



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerobitaille/pseuds/jerobitaille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Superman's battle with Doomsday. Lex struggles to cope in a world without Clark and the loss of the life they'd built together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter Me

Lex wants the sun to be shining. Even though most people would prefer to have the weather match their mood, he wants the sun to shine in order to help banish the murky grayness that’s become his life. He’s spent the past three days bathing Clark’s body in both natural and artificial sunlight in the hopes that it would fix things. That it would undo what never should have happened. He’s eradicated nearly every piece of Kryptonite on the planet to try and prevent this day from every coming.

The impossible day when Superman died.

When Clark’s absence tears such large chunks from him that he’s surprised he doesn’t leave a trail of blood everywhere he goes.

“The helicopter’s ready to leave whenever you are, sir.”

Lex inclines his head briefly to show that he’s heard, but otherwise he makes no move from the atrium’s glass-paned front wall. He’s opened one of the windowed panels, allowing fresh air to filter into the room. It’s beginning to smell a bit too much like a funeral home despite all plant life scattered around the covered balcony.

The clouds are gathering over Metropolis, just as they have been since late last night, echoing the city’s sense of mourning. Every single major newspaper across the country has the details of Superman’s final battle splashed across the front page, each one vying for the most sensationalized tidbit. Smallville’s own local paper has only a brief mention of the tragedy in the bottom left corner of the front page. Clark’s death merits only a single sentence near the end of the piece.

The Smallville article is the only one Lex has bothered to read all the way through. There is nothing sensationalized, nothing overly dramatic, just the facts. Facts that still somehow add up to Clark dying.

“Sir?”

Exhaling a long breath, Lex straightens his shoulders. “Coming, Mercy.”

Below him, parts of Metropolis are in ruin. Battle scars left behind from Superman’s final defense of the city. The destruction nearly reached LexCorp Tower. Buildings across the street have huge holes punched in them and the globe at the top of the Daily Planet is listing a bit to the left. There’s a dent in it that Lex is fairly sure is in the shape of Clark’s head.

Thousands of people are gathered at the site where Superman choked out his last breath far away from those who loved him. The crumbled office building looks almost like a huge burial mound, bent steel girders protruding from it. The area is covered with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes, a memorial to Metropolis’ favourite alien.

While most of Metropolis—and probably the world—had been watching the battle unfold on television, Lex had been frantically trying to get back from Gotham. He’d shouted obscenities while watching the in-flight satellite feed and prayed to gods that he hadn’t believed in since he was a child to keep Clark safe. His jet had been within sight of Metropolis when the deathblow was struck. Lex isn’t too clear on what happened between that moment and when he’d reached the warehouse where the Justice League had taken Superman.

He doesn’t really want to know.

It doesn’t matter.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Give him back to me.”

The Batman scowled at him, arms crossed over his armored chest. “You know we can’t do that. If the wrong—”

“Give him back to me!” Lex shouted as he stalked towards the masked hero. He swallowed the second outburst that was trying to force its way out and continued deeper into the warehouse the Justice League had commandeered after the battle.

A battle they’d been suspiciously absent from.

Lex couldn’t fault them for not joining in on the fight itself—Doomsday would have easily obliterated most of the League—but they hadn’t even provided Clark with any type of back up. The Watchtower was filled with all sorts of high tech weaponry from all corners of the globe. LexCorp had manufactured a large number of the weapons as top secret projects designed for possible government use. Lex had simply failed to inform his scientists and engineers that the government wasn’t getting anywhere near those projects.

“Luthor, you can’t just—”

Lex flinched at the hand on his arm and whirled to face the Batman. He slammed the caped crusader into a stack of crates, glaring at him. Batman continued to glare at him from underneath his cowl, but didn’t attempt to say anything else. Bruce had learned a lot more restraint since they were children, even if his temperament hadn’t improved any.

“He’s not Superman anymore, Bruce,” Lex ground out, the words nearly getting caught in his throat. “He’s just Clark now. And Clark’s mine.”

Gotham’s Dark Knight didn’t put up any further protest as Lex made his way deeper into the warehouse. No one else tried to impede him. The warehouse was basically a vast open space littered with piles of crates and boxes. The majority of the light seeped in through grime-covered windows about ten feet off the ground. A single row of overhead lighting had been turned on, leading Lex directly to Clark.

Clark was still laid out on the gurney the paramedics had put him on, his upper body covered with the tattered remains of his cape. Diana or one of the others had made an attempt to clean his face, but there was no masking the dark bruises and contusions that distorted his flesh. Even Clark’s hair was less brilliant in death, hanging lank against his forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

Lex ignored whoever had spoken and continued his slow march to Clark. He desperately wanted to turn around, to run and flee, but he was a Luthor and Luthors didn’t run away. Not even when their entire world lay crumbled before them.

XXXXXXXXXX

The flight to Smallville takes far too long. Even after nearly a decade spent living in Metropolis, Clark Kent is still one of Smallville’s own. Lex wishes the funeral was taking place in the city if only so that he doesn’t have so much time with nothing but his thoughts. Lex opted for his helicopter to try and make the trip as short as possible, but it’s still too long.

Martha, Chloe and Lois had returned to Smallville the day before with Clark’s “body.” None of them had asked him outright if it really was Clark in the coffin (the funeral is closed casket), so Lex simply stayed silent. The body in the coffin may look like Clark, but it’s little more than a very realistic mannequin. It’ll do the job until the coffin is buried alongside Jonathan Kent’s grave, and then no one will give it another thought once the headstone is in place. Lex knows, just like they do, that it’s too dangerous to leave Clark’s body defenseless. There are too many people who suspect things about Clark. People whose morals wouldn’t prevent them from digging up a body.

At the moment, Clark’s body is still in the penthouse. Exactly where he’s been since Lex brought him out of the warehouse. It’s being guarded by several of his most trusted security officers. They don’t know exactly what it is in the penthouse that requires such high levels of security, but they’re not paid to questions his orders. They just need to keep everyone out of the penthouse until he returns from Smallville.

The rational part of Lex knows that he can’t keep Clark in the atrium indefinitely. Stretched out on the bed Lex had installed when Clark moved in, he’s able to pretend, at least for a few moments at a time, that Clark’s not really dead. Then he looks past the familiar shape and sees all of the damage. Having x-rayed and catalogued every injury, Lex is amazed that Clark lasted as long as he did against Doomsday. It was likely little more than sheer desperation and whatever it was inside Clark that originally coaxed him into taking up the mantle of Superman.

Lex stares out at the passing landscape without really seeing it. He’s traveled this same route so many times that it is nothing more than distance to be crossed. Clark was always far more interested in the journey, constantly searching out the differences between one flight and the next. It’s a wonder Lex has never fully shared, his fear of heights merely subjugated to his will rather than truly conquered. It had seemed easier to bear when Clark was with him, chattering away about an article he had written or something he was working on.

The notes for Clark’s final article still sit on one of the tables in the library. Lex had tried for years to convince Clark to let him build an office in the penthouse for him, but Clark had always refused.

“I like being in the library,” Clark had whispered one afternoon as they lay curled up on the large sofa in the center of the library. “It means I’m not really working and you can interrupt me whenever you want.”

Lex had taken the invitation for what it was and purposefully interrupted Clark whenever his schedule allowed. He’d been in the process of interrupting Clark when Doomsday had first been sighted. Lex had used Clark’s distraction to have a lunch meeting with Wayne Industries CEO Lucius Fox. They’d barely had a chance to begin their meal when it became obvious that Doomsday was no mere metahuman or would-be criminal mastermind. Lex had cut the meal short to rush back to Metropolis.

Too late.

Clark’s faded Smallville High t-shirt is still half-falling off the arm of the Lex’s favourite wingback chair, untouched since that afternoon. Lex keeps the room locked to ensure that none of his servants feels the need to clear it away. The atrium and their bedroom is locked just as tightly.

Smallville begins as a speck in the distance. The chimneys of Plant 3 and the looming mass that is the castle are the first things Lex sees. Smallville will never be large, but it seems decidedly smaller as his pilot guides them towards the castle. Lex has no desire to venture inside the hulking stone building. He wouldn’t return to it now except there’s no other place to land the helicopter. The harvest is still over a month away, so there are no fields for him to land in, and there are no other accessible open spaces.

As the helicopter begins its decent, Lex notices a solitary figure sitting in the gardens. Even from a distance Lex knows exactly who it is. Martha Kent’s hair has faded somewhat from when he first knew her, but even without the red hair, her location gives her identity away. Much of the gardens are perfectly manicured, but there’s a small section near the back patio that’s entirely Clark’s domain. He’d given the small plot to Clark one year as a birthday present, allowing him to do whatever he wanted. In the spring, the area was always awash with yellow tulips, Martha’s favourite.

The tulips have long since faded for the year, but there are still plenty of other flowers to brighten the area.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Lex murmurs as he approaches Martha. She’s sitting on a small stone bench that Clark had effortlessly carried over from another part of the grounds. “I thought you’d be at the farmhouse.”

Martha smiles up at him sadly from under the brim of her black hat. “There’s too many ghosts in that house now.”

Lex sits down next to her, sighing in response to her statement. He feels much the same way about the castle and the penthouse. Everywhere he looks in both homes is filled with memories of Clark and the life they’d had together.

“I didn’t actually think he’d be able to die,” Lex admits after several quiet moments. “I still don’t. If we just wait long enough, give him enough time....”

Martha slips her arm through his, leaning into him. “He’s gone, Lex. We have to accept that. Clark was an extraordinary man, but he’s gone now.”

“No,” Lex says with a shake of his head. “We still don’t know everything his biology is capable of. There’s still a chance that with enough sunlight—”

“Lex, no,” Martha sooths, lightly stroking his arm. She turns towards him, waiting for Lex to face her before continuing. “You have to let him go, Lex. The same way he was prepared to let us go.”

He knows that Martha is right, but refuses to acknowledge it. Clark is too great a man to be defeated by the likes of Doomsday. Doomsday is insignificant by comparison. That insufficiency is what fuels Lex’s belief that Clark isn’t truly dead. He can’t be. Lex is certain that if he gives Clark enough time that Clark will return to him. He has to because anything less is unacceptable.

“We should go,” Lex says quietly. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

Martha smiles sadly at him and allows Lex to guide her from Clark’s small garden around to the front of the castle. Neither one comments on how reluctant and slow each step is.

XXXXXXXXXX

Everything was still a little fuzzy, the detail indistinct. If he thought about it too much, Lex could still feel exactly where the electrodes had been placed and the restrictive pull of the restraints. Lex wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t still strapped to a table in that basement room at Belle Reve, waiting for his father to fry his brain.

“I didn’t hallucinate all of this, did I?” Lex yawned as he slumped down on a motel bed. The mattress was stiff and slightly uncomfortable, but light years better than the cot he’d been sleeping on for the past few weeks. “We really did run all the way from Belle Reve?”

Clark shrugged slightly, suddenly looking far younger than his eighteen years, and eased himself down onto the foot of the bed. “Technically, I was the one doing the running, but yeah, we did.”

Lex took a deep breath and rubbed his left hand over the back of his head. He was relieved that Clark wasn’t lying to him, but the implications of it were frightening. Clark was powerful. So much more powerful than anyone else he’d ever known or that he’d ever suspected. Belle Reve was built to contain mutants. Though considering the frequency with which Gotham’s various freaks escaped from its sister hospital that probably wasn’t saying a lot.

“You’re one of us, then?” Lex asked, staring up at Clark who was fidgeting nervously. “A mutant?”

“A bit more than that. I started it all.” Clark looked everywhere but at Lex. He began to pick at a slight tear in the right knee of his jeans rather than meet Lex’s eyes. “I brought the meteors with me.”

Lex sat up, leaning towards Clark. “You brought them with you? So you’re an...?”

Instead of finishing the thought for Lex, Clark pointed towards the ceiling with his right index finger. It wasn’t the most eloquent of revelations, but it was honest. Far more honest than Lex had expected Clark to be. Lex would have been content with Clark admitting to being one of Smallville’s meteor mutants. At least it was some kind of admission of the strange events that always seemed drawn to Clark.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” Clark said quietly, finally raising his eyes to meet Lex’s. “Only it was safer for you not to know. For you, not just for me. Your father....”

“Would have had you locked away in the depths of some lab if he so much as suspected you were anything more than Smallville’s usual brand of peculiar.”

“He’ll suspect something now, but better that than what he was planning to do to you.

Clark shuddered as he spoke and Lex very nearly did the same. He didn’t want to think about how close Lionel had come to wiping his memories with the electroshock. Lex couldn’t help but marvel over the fact that Clark had put himself at risk to protect him. Clark may not have been in any physical danger, but he’d taken a huge chance using his powers so blatantly in front of Lionel.

“You’re more important than my secret.”

Such a simple sentence, but Lex was entirely blown away by it. No one, not even his mother, had ever spoken of him like that. Rolling to his knees, Lex crossed the short distance that separated him and Clark. He stared at Clark for several long moments then lifted his hands to hold the younger man’s face. There was so much that he wanted to say, but everything seemed far too inadequate.

So instead he pressed his lips to Clark’s, hoping that the gesture would say everything he wanted to.

XXXXXXXXXX

It looks as though all of Smallville has turned out for Clark’s funeral. Lex recognizes only a fraction of the people gathered at the cemetery, but Clark had grown up in the town. Chances are he had saved nearly all of the residents at one point or another from some type of meteor-related problem. Try as they might, neither Lex nor Clark’s parents had been able to rid him of the guilt he felt with each new disaster.

There’s also quite a few members of the press hovering in the outskirts of the crowd. Lex’s assistant has been fielding calls from reporters since the battle. They seemed to believe that since his partner is numbered among the dead that he has some insightful comment to give. The blatant, “no comment,” only seems to annoy them, but Lex isn’t interested in playing PR politics. He is only one person out of nearly one hundred families who lost someone that day.

The weather has finally cooperated and given Lex the sunshine that he desires. He doesn’t want to associate Clark with clouds and rain. He still holds to his theory that, given enough time and sunlight, Clark’s body will repair itself. In the three days since his death, there’s been no sign of decay. It may take some time, but Lex needs to believe that he’ll eventually get Clark back. He’s not ready to live without him and doubts that he ever will be.

Martha is standing beside him, regal as can be in her grief, her arm hooked through his. Lex had tried to slip away to an unobtrusive corner at the back of the crowd, but Martha refused to let him.

“We’re all that’s left,” she’d told him as he guided him to the front row of chairs.

Lex knows better than to bring up his theory about Clark again. She’ll just tell him that he needs to let Clark go. Only Lex has never been good at giving things up. It’s probably one of the main reasons his relationship with Clark ahs lasted so long. There have been countless times over the years that they’ve infuriated each other—times when they’d nearly called it quits. Each and every time it had been stubbornness on both their parts that had saved them. This time would be no different.

Turning his head away from the casket and the throng of mourners, Lex scans the tree line. There’s the odd photographer lurking, no doubt hoping for a spectacular breakdown on his part, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that holds his attention.

Until Lex’s eyes land on the area directly in front of him.

“Lex, are you all right?” Martha asks, no doubt feeling as his entire body tenses.

It takes every ounce of self-control Lex possesses to stay exactly where he is when everything in him wants to rush over to Clark. The only thing that stalls him is the fact that no one else is reacting to his presence. No one else can see him.

“Clark,” Lex moans, unable to swallow the sound.

He knows that it’s not Clark—that it can’t really be Clark—but he desperately wants to believe the illusion. His subconscious is doing an excellent job of tormenting him, even going so far as to ruffle Clark’s hair with the same breeze Lex can feel ghosting over his skin. Clark’s smile is as bright and carefree as it had been that last morning when Lex teased the pen out from behind his ear.

He takes a half-step forward, needing to see for himself whether Clark is an apparition or not. Martha’s hand tightens on his arm and Chloe gasps his name out in surprise. Quiet as he no doubt tries to be, other people hear her and Lex suddenly finds himself under very intense scrutiny. He ignores them all, though, because the chance exists that Clark has recovered from his injuries and is standing before him. Already Lex is thinking of excuses and reasons for Clark’s apparent resurrection. Incorrect identification. A body so badly damaged that it was identified using the wallet found in his pocket. Clark injured and in a hospital, not knowing that his family believed him dead. With all the destruction Metropolis underwent during the battle, they’re not impossible scenarios.

The reporter who steps through Clark shatters the illusion.

Lex stumbles briefly, his knees buckling. He manages to stay on his feet, but it’s a near thing. The whole crowd is murmuring and staring at him, no doubt waiting for him to lose it completely. Even the photographers are on edge, cameras poised.

“I’m fine,” Lex says quietly, refusing to meet Martha and Chloe’s concerned gazes.

Lex looks back to where he saw Clark, but only the reporter remains.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You look gorgeous.”

Clark scowled at Lex through the mirror, his expression lacking any heat. “You have to say that. You chose the suit.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Lex said as he stepped behind Clark. He smoothed his hands over Clark’s shoulders, straightening the lines of the jacket. “It’s all about the man wearing the suit. Those oversized and ill-fitting things you wear everyday make you look like an idiot. This suit, on the other hand, fits you perfectly. It shows off your exceptional Kryptonian physique.”

Clark was still huffing and scowling at his reflection, but at least he’d stopped protesting. It had taken him several days and quite a bit of coercion to convince Clark to wear something other than a rental tux. Lex wished he could get Clark into Armani more often. The sleek lines and tapered waist did amazing things for Lex’s libido. He kept himself in check, though. It was Clark’s first official outing as Lex’s partner.

It didn’t matter that they’d been photographed dozens of times and had been living together for six months. The museum gala that night was going to be the first time Clark accompanied him to a social event as his date rather than his guest. Lex relished the privacy he and Clark had enjoyed when they were considered nothing more than best friends. Clark was seen out enough with Chloe for most of the reporters to keep from speculating too much about the real nature of their relationship.

Unfortunately, they were both far too tactile to enjoy that anonymity forever. A very observant photographer had captured Clark’s hand slipping up the back of Lex’s shirt as they shopped at one of Metropolis’ farmers markets. The next day that photo had appeared in several gossip columns, leading to lots of speculation. That little indiscretion would have been easy enough to explain away, but Clark had told him not to bother.

“You can still back out of this,” Lex said as he moved around to stand alongside Clark, checking his own attire. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“I could live without going to another black tie event, but I definitely don’t mind being your arm candy.” Clark smiled fondly, nudging Lex with his shoulder. It was a sign of Clark’s nerves that he nudged Lex just a little too hard and sent him stumbling a little bit. The embarrassed flush to his cheeks made Lex smile.

“My father will probably throw all orts of millionaire debutants my way if we should up arm in arm,” Lex warned, straightening his bowtie one last time even though it didn’t need it.

While he was focused on the set of his bowtie, Clark grabbed hold of his shoulders and physically turned Lex towards him. Lex let his arms fall to his sides, barely resisting the urge to slide his hands into his pockets in what Clark insisted was his defensive stance.

“It doesn’t matter what you dad does. He’s been trying to get between us for years. It hasn’t worked in the past and it definitely won’t work tonight. Got it?”

Lex smiled at him fondly and nodded his head. “Got it.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Lex begs off the wake, not willing to listen to the countless platitudes that Smallville’s residents will no doubt attempt to ply him with. He returns to the mansion and his waiting helicopter, eager to get back to Clark. He left Hope behind to stay with Clark, but it’s not enough. He wants to watch over Clark himself and monitor any possible changes.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Martha instructs as she pulls him into her arms.

Lex forces himself to offer up a tight smile in return. “I’ll try.”

It’s not the answer that Martha wants to hear, but it’s the best Lex can do under the circumstances. He’s not ready to contemplate life without Clark and what that entails just yet. Lex has already begged off various functions for the rest of the month, except for a few that were Clark’s pet projects. Superman was supposed to visit and orphanage next week and since Clark won’t be able to attend, Lex has already begun planning an extravagant event for them with clowns, magicians and anything else his assistant can come up with.

“Hope says there’s been no change,” Mercy tells him as he approaches the helicopter.

Lex expects as much, but had hoped for better news. Any news at this point would be welcome. Lex is enough of a pragmatist to know that Clark isn’t going to be healed in the space of a blink. That any progress Clark makes will be incredibly slow. The fact that Clark’s body hasn’t already begun to decompose is heartening. Even on the minutest cellular level, Clark is the same as he was before Doomsday.

The journey back from Smallville seems to take less than the one there, anticipation altering his sense of perception. Lex doesn’t care what the reason is. He’s had his fill of sympathetic words and pitying glances and wants nothing more than to return to the penthouse.

“I don’t want to be disturbed,” Lex announces as they touch down atop LexCorp Tower. “No one is the enter the atrium. Interrupt me only if you absolutely have to.”

Lex doesn’t wait to hear if Mercy responds. He climbs out of the helicopter and heads straight to the stairs that lead directly into the penthouse. The rooftop access was created under the guise of creating a helipad, and while it had always served that purpose, Clark had always found it useful for his extracurricular activities.

Lex barely registers it as he punches in the access code, slipping through the door before it slides open completely. By the time he steps into one of the penthouse’s upper hallways, Lex has already removed his jacket and is in the process of loosening his tie. The atrium and Clark are to his right while their bedroom and a change of clothes are to his left.

After a brief moment of indecision, Lex goes quickly to the left.

The loose jeans and Clark’s old t-shirt that he’d worn that morning are still on the bed, proof enough that his housekeeper has stayed out of the room. Lex changes back into them, allowing the shirt to linger over his head for a few endless seconds as he breathes in Clark’s scent.

There are no other sounds in the penthouse as Lex slowly pads barefoot towards the atrium. Even with the bright sunlight outside, the penthouse is always somewhat gloomy in the hallways. The urgency that he’d felt before has faded now that he’s so close to Clark. It hasn’t gone completely, but Lex is able to pause and suck in a deep breath before he turns the knob.

The atrium is a sort of glorified balcony. Kansas winters being what they are, Lex had designed the atrium so that he and Clark can use the space all year round. While three of the walls are the original structure’s stone construction, the fourth wall and ceiling are made up of glass panels much like a greenhouse. There are mechanisms that allow the glass walls to retract during the warmer months and heaters scattered throughout to ensure it doesn’t get too cold in winter. The atrium has minimal plat life beyond the few large ferns and other tall greenery Clark had insisted on. Instead a jacuzzi and massive bed take up a fair amount of the space.

It’s a very modern bed, the mattress set on a simple mahogany platform, but with a touch of Smallville. Spread out on the bed is the quilt that Martha made them as a housewarming gift so many years ago. Clark always liked to snuggle up in it as he lay on the bed to watch the stars. At the moment, the quilt is covering Clark to the waist.

Lex’s chest tightens once again at the sight of Clark lying so still. He takes a deep breath and slowly crosses to the center of the room where the bed is situated. In deference to the natural sunlight, Lex had turned off the sunlamps before he left, but they still stand guard over Clark like sentries. Lex climbs up onto the platform at the foot of the bed and stops. He stares at Clark for several long minutes, attempting to convince himself that Clark is merely sleeping. He’s not ready to break the illusion just yet.

Except Clark is rarely so still, even in sleep. He isn’t jittery or twitchy, but there’s always some sort of movement. Lex has always found it somewhat soothing. They could be sitting watching a movie and Clark’s thumb would be stroking lightly along his arm or the back of his hand even as the rest of him is relaxed. This unearthly stillness as Clark lays bathed in sunlight unnerves Lex because that motion wasn’t there. Almost like Clark wasn’t there.

“You need to wake up,” Lex tells him, staring down at Clark’s unresponsive face. The cuts and bruises are still far too prominent, giving Clark’s skin a sickly cast between the contusions. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep it all in balance if you don’t wake up. Please, Clark. I’m not ready to do this without you.”

Leaving Clark and the bed behind, Lex moves over to the small work station he’d set up for Clark for those days he wanted to work in full and unobstructed sunlight. In the days since the battle, Lex has turned it into his own office. Not for LexCorp work, though. Lex isn’t even sure if the work he’s doing now will ever come to fruition, but it’s certainly cathartic.

Planning the destruction of everyone responsible for taking Clark from him helps him to forget the reality of the battle for at least a little while.

XXXXXXXXXX

“You can’t do this, Lex,” Clark protested as he stalked over to Lex’s desk. He’d purposely waited until Lex’s secretary was on her lunch break before barging in, his mouth set in a scowl. “You can’t take advantage of our relationship to go after Bruce and Oliver’s companies.”

Lex arched an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. It took a great deal of effort to not appear as amused as he felt. “Is that what I’m doing now?”

Clark’s expression was positively thunderous, his whole body radiating his displeasure. “Don’t even try it, Lex. We both know that you’re stealing contracts from them whenever they’re distracted with League business. Once is a coincidence, twice is annoying, but seven times in three months.... Come on, Lex. That’s just cheating.”

“It’s not cheating to use your opponents’ lax attention against them,” Lex tried to rationalize to Clark. It was the truth, even if it wasn’t a truth Clark would agree with.

“It is when you use me to find out when they’ll be distracted.”

Lex glowered briefly, more out of annoyance than actual displeasure. “A true businessman will use any worthwhile advantage. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to keep them on their toes.”

“Lex....”

Sighing, Lex stood up and walked around the desk to where Clark was hovering. He reclined against the edge of the desk, hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t give into the temptation to touch Clark. “It’s only business, Clark. Bruce and Oliver are both big boys. And, honestly, they should have better people working for them if I’m able to snatch away potential investors so easily.”

Clark looked slightly mollified, but still not entirely pleased. He turned his upper body towards Lex, staring at him intently. His gaze was incredibly focused, as though he was trying to snatch Lex’s true intentions from his mind. There were no super powers involved, just the usual concern that erupted when Clark feared Lex was becoming too much like his father. Better Clark think that than the actual truth.

“I know you don’t like the League,” Clark said after a moment, stepping away from the desk so that he was able to slump down into one of the chairs that faced it.

“Of course I don’t. They take advantage of you and your abilities.”

“No they don’t,” Clark immediately defended the League without thought. Clark always defended them without thought, much to Lex’s frustration. “It allows us to work together and pool our resources.”

Lex’s hands slipped out of his pockets and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why are you always the first assault? You’re always the first into the fray, the one to stick around the longest. They all but use you as indestructible cannon fodder while they come up with a plan to save their own asses.”

The look that Clark gave him spoke volumes, but Lex refused to back down. Not where Clark’s safety was concerned. Because no matter what Clark liked to think, he wasn’t indestructible. His body certainly was, but not the rest of him. Clark tended to forget that part. It’s a variation of the same argument they’d had countless times since Clark had adopted the mantle of Superman more than five years ago.

“If I have the ability, why shouldn’t I use it whenever possible?” Clark countered, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. His fingers plucked absently at the seams at the ends of the armrests.

“How about because one day it could end up killing you?”

Clark frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He grabbed hold of Lex’s thighs and tugged the other man towards him. Lex put up a token resistance, but allowed himself to be guided closer, resting his hands on Clark’s shoulders to help maintain his balance. Clark leaned back just enough so that he could see Lex’s face when he tilted his head up.

“We’d never put each other in danger knowingly, Lex, but there’s always a risk. You could get hit by a bus crossing the street, but I don’t keep you locked up in here day and night.”

Lex glared at him, unimpressed. “That’s hardly a fair comparison. I don’t usually go out looking for trouble. And when I do, I’m smart enough to plan for every conceivable outcome.”

“Then trust me to do the same,” Clark pleaded before Lex could get wound up again. His somber expression forced Lex to bite down on his instinctual argument. “Besides, I work with Bruce now. If anyone’s anal about planning for every eventuality, it’s him.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Bruce should have known better. Lex has warned him—both his billionaire and vigilante personas—many times to keep Clark safe. To not use him as a one-man army whenever the League is called into action. Bruce is their main tactician. He plans nearly every assault the League makes against the various metahumans and villains that terrorize the world. He doesn’t have the final say, but his words hold a lot of sway. After all, the Batman is just one member of the Justice League.

The one who convinced Clark to join up.

The new Wayne Manor doesn’t have the grace and elegance of its predecessor, but then Bruce has always been a bit flashy. He’s very much like Lionel that way. He’s also far too over-confident in himself and his abilities. Bruce has been that way for as long as he can remember. Even when they were children, Bruce was always so sure that he was right and that everyone else just needed to follow his plans. Lex had bunched him a few times before Bruce got a lot bigger than him and started studying martial arts.

Now that he’s putting in the effort, it doesn’t take Lex long to find the locations where Bruce has attempted to hide all of his toys and technology. It’s not as though Bruce was making a big effort to hide it all. Lex sends his people in to extract the pieces that interest him then destroys the rest with his own new explosives technology.

Before he razes Wayne Manor—and the base it conceals—to the ground, Lex makes sure that Alfred isn’t on site. He’s always had a soft spot for the aging butler. There were times, when he was a kid, that Lex would pretend that Alfred was his grandfather. He liked Alfred far better than any of his natural male relatives.

With the destruction of so many buildings and facilities owned by Wayne Enterprises and its figurehead, it doesn’t take the media long to start sniffing for the purpose. Bruce’s own defensiveness doesn’t help matters any. Lex almost smiles when he sees that it’s Lois who puts the pieces together first. Then all he has to do is sit back and watch the vultures descend.

“I have to do it, Clark,” Lex whispers to the still figure on the bed late one night. A week has passed since the battle and Lex can almost convince himself that the bruises and cuts are healing.

The heat from the sunlamp warms Lex’s chilled skin and provides the only light in the atrium. Lex has barely left the room at all since returning from Smallville. He doesn’t want to be far away when Clark proves him right. He’s going to be the one there when Clark opens his eyes. To see those familiar green eyes flutter open and smile up at him. He’s going to be there.

He has to be.

Lex chooses not to consider what Clark will think of what he’s doing. Deep down he knows that Clark won’t approve, but he can’t make himself care. The League needs to realize that they’re not untouchable. Lex thinks he’s done a good job so far. Bruce is in hiding and the rest of them are all on high alert. Oliver Queen is next—his arrogance has annoyed Lex since they were children—but Lex knows that he has to bide his time. Soon enough he’ll be able to destroy Oliver like he has Bruce. But not if he’s hasty.

Patience is one of the good things his father taught him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Lex stared down at Clark, a smile curving his lips. He hadn’t expected to find anyone waiting for him in his bed when he returned home after a day of tedious meetings. Especially not Clark, who was supposed to be back in Smallville getting ready for his finals. While Lex normally didn’t like it when his housekeeper failed to warn him about unscheduled visitors, but Clark was a welcome exception. The fact that Clark had apparently dozed off made the scene that much more enjoyable.

Lex could certainly get used to finding a naked Clark in his bed.

His tie was on the floor before he was even halfway across the room, jacket following soon after. Lex unbuttoned his shirt by touch alone, his eyes never leaving his sleeping boyfriend. It had only been a few days since he’d last seen Clark, but even that seemed too long after having Clark all but live at the mansion while Lex was in Smallville for a few weeks. Knowing how much Clark had risked for him all those months ago at Belle Reve, how much he trusted him, helped center Lex in a way that nothing ever had before. It also made it that much more difficult to be away from Clark. Things would be so much easier when Clark started at Met U in the fall.

By the time Lex reached the bed he was as naked as Clark. Who apparently wasn’t really sleeping after all. Sleeping people didn’t have to work so hard to suppress a grin.

“You’re supposed to be at home until after your finals,” Lex murmured as he climbed up on the bed, straddling Clark’s legs. He pressed his palms down alongside Clark’s hips and slowly began crawling his way up the bed. Beneath him, Clark was positively twitching.

How Clark managed to look smug when his whole body was practically vibrating with need was a mystery, but he managed it.

Lex hummed approvingly as he leaned down to lick at Clark’s collarbone. The reaction was instantaneous. Clark arched up under him, nearly knocking Lex off with the sudden move. Lex grinned against Clark’s skin and nipped lightly. He was definitely liking this new Clark; the one who’s emerged after Belle Reve. Since they’d stopped lying to each other. Without the weight of all his secrets, Clark was so much more relaxed and alive.

“Lex....” Clark moaned as he arched up from the mattress again, searching out some friction. He nearly whined when Lex twisted away, denying him. Clark suffered the denial with only a pout and a wordless cry. It constantly amazed Lex that, even with his abilities, Clark never simply took. He accepted what was offered, relished and cherished it, but never forced the issue. Lex doubted he’d be able to do the same.

“Clark,” Lex murmured against jaw before running the tip of his tongue along the underside.

By the time Lex brushed his lips against Clark’s, his body was beginning to tremble outright. Every nerve ending tingling, extra sensitive to the touch.

For one endless moment, Lex pulled his head back just enough to see Clark’s face. He was nearly undone by the unguarded want painted so clearly on Clark’s features, the passion and the desire. And the love, the understanding, the devotion. There was so much emotion in Clark’s expression that Lex felt utterly undone. And even though it made his arms quiver and his stomach flutter, Lex wanted to feel it again.

And again.

For the rest of his life.

XXXXXXXXXX

It’s Hope who suggests taking Clark to the Arctic. Lex had purposefully pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind, not wanting to leave Clark to the mercies of his biological father’s unfeeling AI. It’s been ten days since the battle, though, and Lex is realizing that sunlight won’t be enough. Or rather, that it will take too long. On a very minute cellular level there is evidence that Clark’s body is repairing itself. If he waits long enough, Clark will recover on his own.

However, Lex doesn’t want to wait in this case. He wants Clark back now.

Leaving now, though, means putting his plans for Oliver on hold a bit longer. Because Lex wants to be there to witness first hand his childhood friend’s fall from grace. He wants to see the realization on Oliver’s face as everything he thought was his was ripped from him.

“Make the arrangements,” Lex tells Hope as he crosses the atrium to Clark. He stands overlooking him for a moment before seating himself on the platform next to Clark’s right hip. Lex reaches his fingers out and gently strokes the back of Clark’s hand. “I’m not leaving you with Jor-El. I don’t trust him not to turn you back into Kal even if it means you get better. I want you, not that Kryptonian alternate.”

Hope is as efficient as ever and, in less than an hour, he and Clark are on a jet headed to the Arctic. The jet is specially equipped to handle both the extreme weather and the landing conditions. A false flight plan says they’ll be heading to Greenland, but Hope will be flying the jet more towards the true North Pole.

Inside the jet is as luxurious as any other private jet Lex has ever flown in. He’d made sure of it when he bought it just prior to his first visit to the Fortress. Clark is spread out on a sofa, blanket covering him even though Lex knows he can’t feel the cold. He needs to pretend that Clark is still aware of the elements. Still aware of anything at all.

“You’ll help me transport him into the Fortress, but after that I want you and the plane gone,” Lex orders as he fingers a glass of scotch. He tries to convince himself that it’s the movement of the jet that causes the glass to tremble slightly. “The AI doesn’t like guests and I want all of its attention focused on healing Clark.”

The quiet affirmations continue as Lex gives instructions on how things need to be handled in his absence. Lex has no idea how long it will take Jor-El to heal Clark and he isn’t going to leave his company unguarded in the interim. He would be a fool to do so when Oliver is out for blood after what happened to Bruce. Lex had been careful to hide his involvement in the Batman’s great revelation, but he knows that Oliver already has his suspicions. Oddly enough, Bruce hasn’t even tried to spin the situation. He’s letting his company slowly crumble as the vultures descend. According to his latest reports, Bruce is hiding in Nepal with his monks again. Lex would be happy if he stayed there permanently.

Leaving Mercy to watch over Clark, Lex disappears into the back of the jet to change into survival gear. The AI may tolerate his presence for the most part, but it’s hardly hospitable. Lex has only been to the Fortress a few times and each time his reception was decidedly chilly, even with Clark’s presence. Without Clark there to act as a buffer, Lex isn’t sure what to expect. Given the fact that he’ll be delivering Krypton’s last son mostly dead to what amounts to the ghosts of his parents, Lex doesn’t expect a lot.

Lex methodically puts on the specially designed outerwear. He’d had the suit made when it became obvious that the AI didn’t care much for Lex’s presence. It hadn’t helped matters when Clark insisted that the holographic projection of his father needed to get over himself and accept that Clark wasn’t going to take over the world. Jor-El blamed him what he called Clark’s lack of cooperation and purposely made things difficult for Lex. So rather than turning decidedly blue when he spent extended periods of time at the Fortress, Lex had a survival suit engineered that was noticeably thinner and able to withstand lower temperatures. Lex had no desire to look the abominable snowman when Clark was able to walk around naked without feeling the effects of the cold. He certainly enjoyed the view, though.

“We’ll be landing in a few minutes, sir,” Mercy calls towards the back of the jet as Lex is finishing up the last few buckles on the suit.

Grabbing up the hat and muffler, Lex moves back towards the front of the jet. Mercy has already secured Clark to the stretcher they’ll use to transport him into the Fortress. He trusts that Mercy has done the job properly, but Lex still visually checks to ensure that Clark is completely secure before sitting down in his own chair. He watches Clark throughout the landing on the off chance that their proximity to the Fortress will kick start his vitals.

Clark’s chest remains as still as ever.

Lex grabs his duffel bag and checks his satellite phone a final time before following Mercy and Hope off the plane. The runway they’ve just landed on is Clark’s doing; his way of ensuring that Lex can always get to him. It’s little more than a flattened path of snow and ice, but it does the job. Lex pulls his hat down further over his ears as he descends the stairs, the wind already seeping all the way through him.

Dressed in their own survival suits, Hope and Mercy are waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, Clark held aloft between them. They wait for Lex to start towards the Fortress before following after him. The monolithic ice structure looms before them, filling most of the horizon. It’s the most beautiful building Lex has ever seen both in terms of construction and the technology it contains. Lex is counting on that technology to save Clark somehow. He’s seen what the AI is capable of and hopes that it will be enough to resuscitate Clark.

“Alexander Luthor, why have you brought Kal-El to us in this state?” the AI demands as they reach the entrance. Today the AI has chosen Jor-El’s persona over Lara’s, not that Lex expected anything different.

“Clark fought a creature called Doomsday,” Lex shouts back over the sound of the gusting wind. “Sunlight has not been enough to heal him, so I hoped you would know a different way.”

“By your standards, Alexander Luthor, Kal-El is dead,” the AI intones, as emotionless as ever.

Lex scowls, but refuses to back down. “By the standards of many, yes, but not by me. Clark is not dead.”

“No. He is not.”

It takes every ounce of willpower and determination Lex possesses not to fall to his knees. Until this moment, Lex hasn’t been able to fully banish the niggling doubt that Clark is really dead and that he just hasn’t accepted it. Now there can be no doubt that Clark is alive. The AI isn’t given to false hope.

“You may proceed, Alexander Luthor,” the AI instructs as a doorway appears in the icy wall. “The others as well, though only as far as the healing matrix.”

It’s a relief that Jor-El is allowing Mercy and Hope to enter the Fortress, given how protective the AI is of Clark. Lex had been half convinced that he’d need to lug Clark in himself since he is the only human the AI has ever allowed into the Fortress. It is a privilege that he’s coveted, but that he’s willing to give up if he gets Clark back. He’d give up his entire company if it meant he got Clark back.

Lex strides confidently into the Fortress, knowing that Hope and Mercy will follow after him. The Fortress seems to shift and rearrange itself every time Lex is inside, but he recognizes the distinct crystal formation of the healing matrix. As they get closer, it begins to glow, lighting itself from within.

“Lay him there,” Lex instructs, nodding towards the base of the matrix. The platform is smooth and just the right length to accommodate Clark’s large body. Lex’s fingers twitch, desperate to reach out and touch, as the women transfer Clark from the stretcher onto the platform. “Be careful.”

The glow increases as soon as they take their hands away. Lex’s eyes are fixed on Clark, but he’s dimly aware of Mercy and Hope retreating from the Fortress. He’s glad to see they’ve taken his warning about Jor-El’s dislike of guests to heart. Lex doesn’t want to have to replace them.

“Your presence is no longer required, Alexander Luthor,” Jor-El informs him, interrupting Lex’s thoughts. “You may leave with your associates.”

Lex looks towards the ceiling, confusion twisting his features. “I have no plans to leave without Clark.”

“Your presence is no longer required, Alexander Luthor.”

This time Lex scowls. “I don’t care if my presence isn’t required. I need to be here.”

“Your presence is no longer required or needed, Alexander Luthor.”

“You can say that as many times as you want—”

Lex is cut off mid-sentence, his awareness compacting and contorting around him. He feels stretched too thin even as his stomach is twisted about into a thousand knots then squished into a ball. Lex isn’t entirely certain, but he’s pretty sure that he’s screaming into the blackness. It’s darker than dark without even a hint of light. And gone in the same instant that it begins.

Lex lays panting on the rocky floor, suddenly too hot in his survival gear. As his senses slowly come back under his command, Lex beings to realize exactly where he is.

The Kawatche Caves.

XXXXXXXXXX

“It’s us,” Clark whispered as he fingered the ancient cave painting. “Naman and Sageeth joined together for all eternity. The Kawatche believe that they’re enemeies, but they’re not. We’re not. We could have been, but....”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Lex said quietly, squeezing Clark’s shoulder lightly. “Whatever could have been isn’t going to happen.”

Clark nodded, the motion jerky. He moved away from the cave paintings quickly, nearly knocking Lex over in his haste. Lex watched as Clark stalked out of the cave, his steps determined. Instead of following him, Lex hung back, staring at the figures painted on the wall. The Kawatche may have claimed that Naman and Sageeth were bitter enemies, but their depiction of them told a completely different story. Mortal enemies weren’t usually joined at the pelvis. Or, if they were, it was because the mortal enemies shtick was just a rouse. Warrior Angel and Devilicus had been doing it quite well for years.

Lex ran his fingers over the serpentine figure, shuddering slightly. He immediately turned towards the exit, following after Clark. The sudden influx of bright sunlight stung at first and Lex had to blink several times to clear his vision. It didn’t help much because Clark wasn’t there.

“Clark?” Lex called as he jogged in the direction where they’d left his car. “Clark, where are you?”

There was no answer except the rustling of leaves.

Running a hand over his scalp, Lex continued towards his car. Fast as his Ferrari was, Lex knew that he’d have no chance of catching up with Clark if he’d truly bolted. He walked carefully along the path that led to the main road, his Italian loafers hardly suitable for the terrain. When he’d gone to the Kents that morning, he hadn’t expected to go trekking through the forest. It was refreshing that Clark still managed to surprise him. He couldn’t remember the last time a person he’d been dating had been able to catch him off guard in any sense.

So it was something of a shock to find Clark sitting on the ground, leaning back against the red sports car.

“Clark.”

“I don’t want us to become our fathers.” Clark kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke, curling in on himself as much as he could. “It came so close to being true and everything in me is screaming at how wrong it would have been for us to be enemies.”

Lex lowered himself down beside Clark, shifting over so that they were touching from hips to shoulders. “The possibility is always there for me to slip up. The corporate world isn’t exactly kind to the meek. But I like to think that you’ll keep me in balance. That you just being there will keep me from becoming too much like my father.”

“What about me?”

“I’ll be sure to knock you down a peg or two if you start getting too self-righteous,” Lex promised, hoping he sounded more cheerful than he felt.

Clark huffed out a sound vaguely like a laugh, but not quite. He leaned further into Lex, not saying anything else. There were several rather uncomfortable stones digging into his ass, but he remained seated on the gravel shoulder next to Clark. He’d learned a long time ago that it was impossible to get Clark to talk about something before he was ready. That it was best to just sit and wait for Clark to start talking. He always did in the end.

“Don’t you ever just want to leave it all? To just disappear?”

Lex doesn’t even hesitate before nodding his head. “All the time. Especially when I was young. Being a bald teenager isn’t the most pleasurable of experiences.”

“Did you ever?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking. It’s hard to fully disappear when you’re a Luthor. But hiding away in labs had the added bonus of annoying my father.”

For a few minutes, Clark fell silent again. When he noticed Clark’s fist clenching and unclenching, he reached over and laid his hand overtop. Clark’s hand turned over almost immediately and he threaded his fingers through Lex’s.

“It’ll be easier to hide in Metropolis. I can just be a normal college student there. No one will know about Smallville, about what I can do—what they think I can do—and everything will be normal.”

Clark sounded so determined that Lex can’t bear to point out to Clark that he will never be normal. That even without his powers there was something unique about him.

Instead he just squeezed Clark’s fingers and hoped that he didn’t end up with bruises from the still-uncomfortable rocks.

XXXXXXXXXX

Oliver’s fall is far more pleasurable to watch than Bruce’s.

LexCorp’s gift of facial recognition software to the Metropolis PD is timed perfectly with the discovery of bodies with distinctive arrows protruding from them. Lex hasn’t ordered the actual killings—he knows that Clark would never forgive him for that—but there are enough gunshot victims in the Suicide Slums that can be transformed into victims of the Green Arrow. It’s distasteful work, but necessary in order to turn public opinion against Oliver. Hope and Mercy are as detail oriented as ever and make sure that there are no bullets to be found on the scenes. Only bodies with arrows penetrating the paths left by the bullets.

Stubborn and arrogant as always, Oliver doesn’t bow down meekly as Bruce did. The same sense of self-entitlement that made Olive a bully when they were teenagers rears its head again as he shouts and threatens reporters who dare to question him.

It’s quite enjoyable watching Oliver led into the police station in handcuffs once the police have enough to charge him for the murders. Lex hadn’t even needed to plant anything in Oliver’s penthouse. Like Bruce, Oliver had plenty tucked away in his home: everything from specially designed bows and arrows to alternate versions of his costume. In contrast, there is nothing that could link Clark to Superman in LexCorp Tower. They’d both made sure of it.

“... police department and the district attorney have both agreed that Mr. Queen is too great a threat to the public and has been denied bail. This news has caused the already floundering Queen Industries to take another dip, leaving stocks at an all time low.”

The dust is still settling around the ruins of Oliver’s life when all of Metropolis turns out to say goodbye to Superman.

“You should come, Lex. You’ve been spending far too much time up here. It’s not good for you,” Chloe pleads as she wanders somewhat aimlessly around Lex’s office. Her attention seems to be focused on the bookcases, but Lex knows that she’s watching him for some type of reaction.

“I have no desire to attend that farce,” Lex tells her as he leans back in his chair. He sets his elbows on the armrests, fingertips drawn together. Lex is fully aware that he’s struck a very supervillain-like pose, but can’t bring himself to care.

“It’s not a farce,” Chloe insists, whirling around to face him. “Clark has saved this city so many times. It deserves a chance to say goodbye to him.”

“Then they shouldn’t have killed him.”

Chloe stares at him, her eyes like saucers. She flounders, struggling to figure out something to say, some argument to make, but Lex doesn’t give her the chance. He pushes himself out of his chair and crossed around the desk to stand in front of her. Lex forces himself to remember that Chloe is one of Clark’s best friends and not simply the Watchtower. He’s promised himself that he won’t go after Chloe even if Jor-El isn’t able to heal Clark.

“Lex, you can’t—”

“I can do anything I want!” Lex shouts, momentarily losing his temper. “Your precious League left Clark to fend for himself against Doomsday. I checked the computer logs. They were more concerned with containing the damage than helping Clark.”

Chloe scowls at him, refusing to back down. “Clark knew the risks. We all knew the risks. You talk like you’re the only one who lost someone important to you, but you’re not. We all lost Clark that day. We did everything we could.... It just wasn’t enough.”

“Easy to say when you sit on the sidelines,” Lex snorts as he stalks towards the window. The view from his office looks out over the city in the direction of the battlefield. It appears as though most of the city is gathering there to say farewell to Superman. “I’ve heard each of you say the same thing so many times, but it never stopped you from using Clark as a human shield. You had to know that eventually that plan would fail.”

Lex watches Chloe’s reflection in the window grow larger as she walks towards him. Her expression is solemn, almost contrite, but she’s smart enough to not try and say anything. To convince him that Clark had been a willing sacrifice.

“You need to say goodbye to him, Lex. Clark’s not coming back.”

No doubt Chloe is waiting for him to reveal what he’s done with Clark’s body, only Lex has no intention of telling her anything. He likes it better that Chloe and the rest of the League truly believes that Clark is really dead. No one was going to know anything until he did. Lex had tried to return to the Fortress, but the AI had refused to let him enter. Short of blowing a hole in the exterior, Lex knows that he won’t be able to get in until either AI relents or Clark is revived. Given what he’s experienced with the AI, Lex knows that it won’t relent. Not even with Lara’s calming influence as part of its matrix.

“I’ll say goodbye in my own time, not before,” Lex tells her, meeting Chloe’s eyes through her reflection. “Definitely not at such a public spectacle. You know that Clark would hate it. He didn’t do it to get his ego stoked, no matter what Lois seems to think.”

Chloe purses her lips, staring intently at his profile. She hesitates for a moment, indecisive, before asking her question. “Do you know who’s behind what happened to Ollie and Bruce?”

Lex turns to face her, not saying anything. He watches her expression morph from worry to disbelief to a mixture of anger and grief.

To her credit, Chloe doesn’t make any melodramatic demands to know his devious plot or why he’d turned against people who were supposed to be his friends. She was smart enough to figure it out on her own. Chloe’s grief quickly turns to disgust and she steps back a few paces. Without a word, she turns and hurries out of his office.

The instant the door closes, Lex stalks over to his desk and picks up the phone. He dials the extension for his tactical team.

“We’re bumping up the timeline. You have half an hour.”

Lex hangs up the phone without waiting for a response and sits back down in his chair. He spins it slowly so that he can look out over Metropolis. Whenever Clark would catch him like this, he’d accuse Lex of acting like an emperor surveying his empire. As a child, he’d been brought up to believe that Metropolis would one day be his empire. While much of his father’s prediction have come true, he’s not the malevolent ruler his father had hoped for. Looking out over the city now, it’s not the makeshift shrine that’s been put up on the battlefield that’s holding his attention.

It’s the Watchtower.

His father had always resented the fact that the building stood taller than the LuthorCorp building. Lex had further antagonized his father by ordering LexCorp Tower to be built a few stories taller than LuthorCorp. Even with the added floors, the Watchtower still remains the tallest structure in Metropolis.

At least for the next half hour.

Lex is going to miss some of the tech that powers the League’s headquarters, but he doesn’t have the time to extract the pieces he wants now that he’s made Chloe suspicious. He doubts that she thinks him capable of destroying the Watchtower, but she also probably hadn’t expected him to bring about the downfall of two of his childhood friends. Wouldn’t understand that their shared past made it that much more enjoyable. It helped lessen the pain for at least a little while.

Exactly thirty minutes later Lex feels the shockwave of the explosion before he hears it. The debris is mostly directed inward and the Watchtower’s superstructure prevents the ruined section from collapsing in on the floors below. Bruce, ever the fatalist, had predicted such an attack and constructed safeguards to protect the surrounding buildings.

Those safeguards do nothing to suppress the fire that engulfs the superheroes’ hideout following the explosion.

As Lex watches, helicopters that had been covering Superman’s memorial veer off to shoot footage of the burning tower. He feels almost giddy watching it happen, knowing that he’s the one responsible. And that it will take the League a while to recover from this blow.

XXXXXXXXXX

Clark’s scowl didn’t help the situation, and really only made Lex want to laugh more. He took a deep breath, lips pursed into a taut line as he took in Clark’s new get up. While he appreciated the fit of the uniform, the actual design and material left quite a bit to be desired.

“Is there any particular reason you went from dark and mysterious saviour to.... clown stripper?”

“You’re supposed to be supportive,” Clark growled, striking an intimidating pose with his legs spread and arms crossed over his chest. Unfortunately the primary colours of the suit negated nearly all of the dominating force, an impressive feat with that much raw power on display.

“Clark, you’re wearing bright red briefs overtop of a blue unitard. I’m sorry, but that’s a drastic step down from all that dark leather you normally wear on patrol,” Lex tried to rationalize, reaching forward to run his fingertips over the yellow and red crest on the center of Clark’s chest. “Any particular reason for the costume change?”

Clark’s rigid stance began to waver as Lex’s fingers continued to brush over the material. “It’s Jor-El’s idea. Apparently Kryptonians dressed like clown strippers.”

That bit of information made Lex instantly contrite. There was so little of his heritage that Clark could actually lay claim to that he clung tenaciously to each piece that was offered.

“I could have this remade so that it’s not quite so revealing,” Lex said with a pointed glance to Clark’s groin. “I’m not sure what you think of the matter, but I’m certainly not eager for all of Metropolis to see which way you dress.”

The ensuing blush wasn’t quite as red as his boots, but it was a near thing.

“Let me have it remade, Clark. One of my R&D teams is making a new ultra-thin body armor for the military. I’ll have it dyed slightly less... bright hues than this uniform, but follow the same design. The crest, the boots, the cape. Possibly not the outerwear panties. Consider it a modern interpretation.”

Clark tried to scowl, but it was easy to see the relief he felt. He lost his defensive posture and zipped back in the direction of their bedroom. He returned less than a minute later, dressed in a pair of worn jeans with the costume slung over his arm.

“Thank you for not dismissing it entirely,” Clark murmured as he made his way over to the library’s safe.

Lex could understand Clark not wanting to bring the uniform to the Watchtower for safe keeping, and it was too late for Lex to insist that Clark bring it back to the Fortress right away. They’d made the decision when Clark first started his heroics in Metropolis that they wouldn’t keep any evidence in the penthouse that could link Clark to Superman. Lex didn’t trust his father not to pry and neither of them wanted Clark’s alter ego revealed.

“I lived in a castle surrounded by cornfields,” Lex reminded him. “I understand how insistent fathers can be about family heritage.”

Clark’s smile was more of a smirk as he turned away from the safe. “Because being exiled to a castle is as embarrassing as wearing outer space spandex.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Asshole.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Lex has always believed that Clark would come back to him, that he wasn’t really dead. He’s focused all of his attention on that simple fact and not on what would actually happen when Clark returns. Because Lex knows that Clark is going to be furious with him. In only a few months he’s managed to bring the Justice League to its knees. Without the Watchtower, the rest of them have scattered, turning up occasionally in their hometowns.

Metropolis itself is still reeling, every newspaper speculating on the connection between Superman’s memorial and the destruction of the League’s previously secret base. Some reporters are even beginning to speculate that the League had something to do with Superman’s death and that the superhero’s secret lover is taking vengeance on his behalf. While the more serious newspapers laugh it off as romantic drivel, Lex cuts out the articles and keeps them in the top drawer of his nightstand.

“Why did you do it?”

The question is so quiet that Lex almost misses it. He rises slowly from his reclined position on the atrium’s bed and glances into the shadows. Lex silently curses the plants that are scattered about the room and the fact that he hadn’t turned on any lights once the sun had set. Without any artificial light it’s difficult to see the speaker.

“Clark?”

Lex focuses his attention on the front of the room, searching out Clark’s profile among the potted plants and statues along the glass wall. The full moon should have provided enough light, but it had rained all day and the clouds are still present, obscuring his vision.

“Clark, please....”

Lex doesn’t care that he sounds like a desperate damsel from a period drama. Clark has come back despite everything. As much as Lex wants to rush over and find him, he seems to have forgotten how to use his legs. After so long, Clark is right there, but Lex feels as though he’s stuck to the mattress.

A few leaves rustle just out of the corner of his left eye and Lex immediately turns his whole upper body in that direction, rising to his knees. It takes a few moments for the shadows to merge, but Lex can see the shape of a familiar head and shoulders.

“Tell me why you did it?”

Clark’s voice is rough, broken, and Lex instantly starts to move towards him.

“No. Stay there.”

The command is barked out, but the underlying pain is evident. Lex obeys simply because he can’t bear to see Clark hurting. He sinks back on his heels, staring at Clark’s silhouette against the wall. There’s enough of a break in the clouds that Lex can momentarily see his face. Clark is gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and lank hair. The desolate look in his eyes is the same as a punch to the gut.

“Clark.”

There’s so much that Lex wants to say, so much tumbling about in his head, but all Lex seems to be able to get out is Clark’s name. He slumps back further into the mattress, running a hand over his scalp.

“You’re okay?”

Clark nods his head, shifting about uneasily. “Nearly.... You still haven’t answered my question. Why?”

There’s no answer he can give that will make Clark accept what he’s done. Lex has known this from the very beginning. He also won’t apologize for what he did. Bruce and Oliver needed to realize that they weren’t above the law and the Justice League was too powerful to go unchecked indefinitely. The fact that they’d nearly taken Clark from him had only been the final catalyst. Lex’s concerns go back much farther than Clark’s battle with Doomsday.

“They used you as a human shield again and it nearly got you killed. Since I can hardly take them to court, I had to find some way to punish them,” Lex tells him, repositioning himself so that he’s sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed. “No one died, but I needed to make them suffer at least a fraction of what I was feeling.”

“Lex....”

Hearing Clark whisper his name smashes a huge chunk off the block of ice that’s been forming in the middle of his chest since he’d heard the nameless reporter announce Superman’s death. He’d almost given up hope that he’d ever hear Clark whisper his name again.

“I know you hate me right now, Clark, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I’d destroy the whole world if I truly thought I’d lost you.”

It sounds completely over the top even to his own ears, but Lex means every word of it. He doesn’t care about LexCorp, Metropolis or even his own burgeoning political career if it means he doesn’t have Clark by his side.

“You can’t put this all on me, Lex. You can’t make me the only thing that keeps you in check,” Clark pleads, his voice cracking every few syllables.

Knowing that Clark won’t come to him, even if he begs, Lex pushes himself to his feet. He keeps his eyes locked on Clark, hoping the other man doesn’t dart away into the night, as he slowly crosses the atrium to where Clark is huddled against the wall. Lex can hear Clark’s breathing speed up ever so slightly as he gets closer, but Clark doesn’t flee. Lex takes that as a good sign.

Up close, Lex can see how drawn and wasted Clark is. A t-shirt that Lex knows had recently fit Clark rather snugly is now hanging off him. Lex reaches out, his fingers hovering in the air next to Clark’s right arm. He wants to touch him, but is terrified of breaking the spell and sending Clark into the night. Clark’s eyes are utterly focused on him, taking in every inch of his appearance. Lex watches Clark’s eyes, waiting for some type of signal that will tell him whether it’s okay or not to touch him.

Very slowly, Lex lifts his left hand until it rests only a hairsbreadth away from Clark’s cheek. So close that he can feel the heat radiating off Clark’s skin. When Clark doesn’t flinch away, Lex gently presses his palm to Clark’s cheek. He’s alive and breathing and so warm. Lex only barely manages to keep from drawing Clark into his arms, contenting himself with the feel of Clark’s cheek under his palm.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Lex moans, running the pad of his thumb along Clark’s cheekbone.

His need to hold Clark only grows when Clark leans into his touch.

“It was the sunlight,” Clark says after several long minutes. “If you hadn’t kept me in the sun right from the start there was nothing the AI could have done.”

Lex’s whole body shudders as relief courses through him. The sunlight hadn’t been part of any grand plan, just lucky intuition borne from many years watching Clark sunbathe even in the dead of winter.

In that moment, Lex doesn’t care that Clark probably hates him. He leans forward, catching Clark’s lips in a kiss that alternates between chaste and desperate. Clark doesn’t respond at first, confirming his fears that Clark no longer felt the same attraction, the same pull. Lex is just about to back away when he feels Clark’s lips move against his. He starts to press closer, but Clark’s hands on his hips stop him. The kiss continues, but Clark keeps some physical distance between them.

“I have.... I have to go,” Clark stammers against his lips.

Before Lex can even form a thought, he’s aware of the familiar rush of air that heralds one of Clark’s rapid departures. He sags, leaning against the wall. Lex knew that he couldn’t expect Clark to come back immediately. Clark wouldn’t understand why he’d done it. Sometimes Lex doesn’t understand how he could destroy the League with such little consideration. He’d been friends with them and had taken such pleasure in the destruction of the Watchtower.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” Lex whispers as he stares out at the Metropolis skyline.

XXXXXXXXXX

All of Metropolis glittered below him. Late at night it was impossible to see the dirty and dangerous parts of the city. So far up in LexCorp Tower, it was just as hard to hear the sirens and cars and shouts and general noise that engulfed a city at all hours of the day.

Lex idly swished his glass of scotch as he stared out at the city. Lex was still dressed in a tux, bowtie unknotted and top button undone. It had been a night of wining and dining, testing the waters of his political aspirations. It was a night where Clark had been noticeably absent despite his earlier promises that he’d attend with Lex. They were Metropolis’s most publicized couple, upstaging the rest of the city’s elite on the society pages. Lex could only imagine the speculations that would fill those pages after being abandoned by his partner halfway through the annual Met Gala.

“I’m sorry, Lex.”

Lex kept his posture rigid and downed the rest of his scotch in a single burning swallow. He didn’t look at Clark even though he could sense him hovering just out of his line of sight.

“I really didn’t think I’d be gone so long,” Clark continued, touching down lightly on the balcony. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that.”

Without acknowledging Clark, Lex disappeared back into the penthouse. He briefly considered locking the door behind him, but knew that Clark would enter regardless. It was both frustrating and endearing that Clark never let an argument stew between them. He’d force Lex to confront whatever it was because he didn’t like them going to bed angry at each other. It was extremely annoying because Luthors could sulk with the best of them.

“I didn’t want to leave,” Clark insisted as he followed Lex into the study. “I wanted to stay with you.”

Lex stalked towards the bar and poured another few fingers of scotch. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be abandoned by your partner at one of the premiere events of the year?”

“Lex, I’m a journalist. Surely they could understand me leaving suddenly.”

“And when they don’t see a dramatic by-line on the front page of the Planet tomorrow morning?”

It wasn’t often that Superman looked contrite. At the same time there was also some anger lurking deep within his eyes. For a moment Lex could see the contradictory teenager he’d known long ago in Smallville.

“I couldn’t let those people die, Lex,” Clark ground out, crossing his arms over his chest. The stance may have intimidated Metropolis’s criminals, but Lex was utterly immune. Always had been.

Lex set his glass down on the bar and rubbed both of his hands over his scalp. “For once, Clark—just once—I’d like to be more important than a bunch of faceless strangers. Isn’t that what your precious League is for? So that you can actually have a life.”

There’s so much more Lex wants to say, so many accusations he wants to make, but anything else would be petty. He knew what he was getting into every step of the way, even if he didn’t like or agree with all of it.

“I can’t stop being Superman.”

“No, but you can try being Clark Kent a little more.”

The argument Clark was preparing to offer died on his lips. He stared at Lex, looking more than a little startled by the accusation. Lex made no move to take any of it back. It was a conversation they’d needed to have for a while, but that neither of them had been willing to begin. It was a conversation that they needed to have before any resentment grew between them.

“I’m sorry, Lex,” Clark murmured, true remorse discernable in his voice. “It sounds trite, I know, but I really am sorry. It’s just—if I know that I can help someone, I have a hard time not doing it. Chloe calls it my saviour complex. I don’t mean to put you second. Because you’re not. You’re really not. It’s just hard to stop when I can always hear them shouting for help.”

Lex leaned against the bar, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not asking you to ignore them completely. I just wish you’d learn to prioritize. Let the League handle the odd crisis, especially on nights you really need to be present. It’s not too much to ask of my partner.”

“No, it’s not,” Clark admitted, his eyes searching out Lex’s and holding them. “I’ll do better, Lex. I promise.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Despite Clark’s return from the Fortress, there’s no reappearance of Superman anywhere in Metropolis. There’s not even a sighting of Clark Kent in Smallville. Lex calls Martha a few days later and is relieved to hear that Clark went back to the farm.

“He hasn’t left the loft since last night,” Martha tells him. He’s grateful for the information, even more so since Martha doesn’t have to tell him anything. Considering what he’s done since the battle, Lex wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d come to hate him as much as Chloe does. “He told me what happened. Thank you, Lex.”

Lex flounders, staring at his phone as though it has suddenly turned into a toddler’s toy. It lasts for only a few seconds before his usual Luthor control takes over again.

“Really, Martha, you shouldn’t thank me,” Lex assures her once he’s confident that his voice won’t crack. “It’s Clark I could hardly do anything else.”

“You had more faith in him than I did. You knew he’d come back right from the beginning and I didn’t believe you.” Martha’s voice is thick with tears and grief. Clark may be back, but there’s still so many emotions that need to be dealt with. “I’m his mother and I was ready to accept that he was dead.”

Lex smiles sadly and leans back further into the plush leather chair behind his desk. He hasn’t been back into the atrium since Clark left.

“I’m a Luthor. We don’t give up anything without a fight.”

The words are both a declaration and a promise. He’ll give Clark the time he needs, but Lex isn’t about to let Clark slip from his life. Everything feels muted and uncertain when Clark isn’t there.

“Good.... Good.”

Lex manages to last until the weekend—a whole two days—before he heads back to Smallville. He drives this time and manages to obey most of the traffic laws in between. Lex wants that extra time to think about just what he’ll say to Clark. An apology won’t work, mostly because Lex still doesn’t feel any remorse for what he did. Clark will see through any attempt at an apology. Lex has already tried the truth, but Clark doesn’t seem open to that either. At least not yet. Perhaps now that he’s had some time to digest what Lex told him at the penthouse, Clark will be more willing to listen to him.

As he nears the “Welcome to Smallville” sign, Lex finds himself speeding up rather than slowing down. He’s still uneasy about seeing Clark again, but Lex feels almost physically drawn to him at the same time.

The sign passes in a blur and Lex continues speeding towards Kent Farms. He’s close enough now that Clark can no doubt hear the sounds of his Ferrari’s highly tuned engine. Lex hopes that it doesn’t send Clark fleeing to the Arctic. With luck, Martha is keeping him distracted or at least refusing to let him leave until Lex is able to get there.

The yellow farmhouse is unchanged from the very first time Lex saw it. It’s the most comfortable and welcoming place Lex has ever been and he envies Clark the fact that he got to grow up in such a warm environment. Lex has always relished the time he and Clark spent in Smallville visiting the farm. He enjoys seeing Clark so relaxed and takes pleasure from the somewhat strenuous work he does as he helps Clark with his chores. His assistance might not always be helpful, but Clark never protests.

Lex gradually slows his car to a crawl as he makes his way up the Kent’s drive. He focuses his attention on the barn, watching for the distinctive blur that heralds one of Clark’s quick exits. There’s no sign of Clark disappearing, which Lex assumes means Clark is ready to talk to him. Or at least be in the same room as him.

Martha’s standing on the porch waiting for him by the time Lex reaches the farmhouse. She has a cup of coffee in her hands, holding it close to her chest. Lex flashes what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he climbs out of his car. Her gaze travels towards the barn briefly before she turns back to the kitchen. Martha’s instructions are quite clear and Lex has no intention of contradicting them.

“Lunch’s in half an hour,” Martha calls from just inside the door. Half an hour’s a lot of time when he’s taking over companies, but when he needs Clark to listen to him, it’s almost no time at all.

Hands in the pockets of his trousers, Lex slowly wanders towards the barn. Over the sounds of his shoes crunching over the dirt, he listens for any noise from Clark. A few cows are lowing in a nearby pasture, but there’s not even the slightest human-sounding shuffle. Chances are Clark is lying in the hammock, letting the breeze rock him and staring out at the endless sea of farmers’ fields.

Lex doesn’t do anything to disguise the sounds of his footfalls. Clark would have heard him when he was still miles out. Each step is careful and measured as he walks through the barn and up the stairs to the loft. As he nears the top of the creaking steps and can peer into Clark’s original Fortress of Solitude, Lex sees that he was right. Dressed in only jeans and a faded t-shirt, Clark is sprawled in the hammock. His left leg is hanging towards the ground, his bare toes lightly ghosting over the dusty floorboards. Clark’s face is turned from him, but Lex can tell that he isn’t sleeping. They’ve shared a bed for nearly a decade, so Lex knows when Clark is really asleep.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave when you realized I was coming here,” Lex says quietly as he steps up into the loft. He crosses over to the well-worn couch and sinks down into it. Clark always used to tease him about how out of place he looks when he sits on the ratty old sofa in one of his expensive suits.

“I thought about it.”

Clark tips his head to the side, meeting Lex’s gaze. His features are still gaunt, but not as sickly as he’d appeared in Metropolis. Martha’s home cooking has done wonders, even in a short amount of time. His eyes, though, were still so sad and so lost. Like a part of Clark hadn’t survived the battle.

“I’m still trying to figure out how much can change in only two months,” Clark murmurs, his eyes focused on Lex. “The League is gone. Oliver’s in jail, Bruce had disappeared... and you’re the one who did it. Lois tried to explain it, but it just doesn’t make sense. That’s not you, Lex.”

Lex sighs, sinking deeper into the sofa. “The League was getting far too full of itself. They were taking unnecessary risks. And not just with you. I simply reminded them that they’re not all powerful.” Lex takes a deep breath, forcing himself to release the anger he feels towards the League. “I don’t care about them, Clark. I love you.”

It’s a relief to see Clark’s expression soften. To see his eyes crinkle in the corners and his lips turning up ever so slightly. Lex allows his head to drop down, resting his temple against the back of the couch. He plans on holding onto the illusion that Clark doesn’t hate him for as long as possible. Maybe if he holds on long enough, Clark will forget it all and love him again.

“I told you, Lex. I can’t be your conscience,” Clarks reminds him, the tender look fading once again. “I can’t be with you if I’m always worried that you’re going to destroy Metropolis because you’re having a bad day.”

The hammock creaks as Clark pushes off with his toes.

“So everything we’ve ever been to each other is gone?”

“No. Never. I love you, Lex. That’s never going to change,” Clark is quick to reassure him. The words could easily be viewed as trite and perfunctory, but Lex can hear the underlying emotion. “I just.... I’m just trying to get used to everything that happened while I was gone.”

Hopeful as he’s trying to be, Lex has no idea where that leaves them.

“Chloe told me once, while we were in college, that she thought you’d destroy the world if you lost me,” Clark says quietly as the hammock continues to sway lightly in the breeze. He’s not looking at Lex, but is focusing on the rafters instead. “I laughed at her. I couldn’t—I still can’t—believe that I could mean that much to you. That I could be worth it.”

Lex considers his words for a moment before pushing himself up off the sofa. Destroying the world would be easy compared to trying to live in a world without Clark. It was obvious that wasn’t the answer Clark would want to hear, or could possibly even accept.

“I’d probably try,” Lex admits as he slowly crosses the open space between them. He gets close enough so that his fingers brush against the worn ropes, but doesn’t touch Clark. “If I truly believed that you weren’t going to come back, I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t try.”

Clark’s too green eyes bore into him, trying to peer into his thoughts. He doesn’t say anything. Instead his hand moves just enough so that Lex can feel Clark’s fingers ghosting over his.

“I want to be able to say that I wouldn’t do the same in your place,” Clark murmurs at last. He shifts a bit, angling his body towards Lex. The hammock wobbles as Clark reaches out, grabbing hold of Lex’s hand. He tugs Lex forward, urging him onto the hammock. Only years of experience keeps them from tumbling to the ground.

Lying wrapped in Clark’s arms is a relief. Lex doesn’t care about the slightly uncomfortable ropes digging into him, only the fact that Clark’s the one who initiated the embrace.

“I was glad you’d gone to Gotham because it meant I didn’t have to worry about you getting hurt,” Clark says after a few minutes. “I could do what I had to and knew you’d be safe. There were so many times we came too close to the Tower. He nearly threw me right through it at one point. If you’d been hurt, there’s a chance I would have destroyed large parts of Metropolis.”

It’s very vague and somewhat uncertain, but Lex knows that he’s just received as close to forgiveness as Clark can offer then. Lex doesn’t think Clark will ever fully understand his need to destroy the Justice League following Clark’s supposed death, but at least there’s the chance he can accept it and move on.

Lex has no doubt that they’ll miss lunch, but he knows that Martha won’t mind. Her most pressing concern is the same as Lex’s—that Clark’s okay. It won’t do either of them any good if they get Clark back in body, but lose that unique personality.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Would you mind telling me why half the writers in the society are insisting that I’m holding out on them?” Clark asked as he all but barged into the library. Clark usually wasn’t home for another few hours, so Lex was surprised to see him. Or he would have been if Lex didn’t know exactly what had Clark so frazzled. “For some reason they seem convinced that we’re getting married.”

Lex glanced up from the book he was reading—new theories on the possible location of Alexander’s tomb—and couldn’t help but grin at Clark’s harried expression. His dark hair was sticking up in several directions, his glasses were smudged and his tie was crooked. Clark tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa opposite Lex and slumped down onto the plush surface.

“You’re a reporter, Clark. Surely you keep abreast of what’s going on in the world. At the very least you should know what’s happening in Kansas.” The scowl he received only broadened Lex’s grin. “Didn’t Lois tell you about my press conference this morning?

It had been a decision on both their parts to keep their professional and private lives separate. Lex didn’t want to have Clark compromise himself or his journalistic integrity. So Clark didn’t report on anything that had to do with LexCorp and Lex left his work in his office. The only exception was Clark accompanying Lex to various charity functions and LexCorp sponsored galas. They attended those as partners, and while Lex may have schmoozed with the best of them, he didn’t conduct any business transactions. The same went for Clark who left his press pass behind and refused to give Lois any scoops the next day.

“Only that you were calling on the governor to make Kansas one of the states to allow same-sex marriages. But I already knew about that. You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

There were times that Lex found it amusing that Clark could be so oblivious despite his impressive investigative skills. It was an endearing trait that Lex hoped Clark would never loose.

“Yes, and I’m in a very public relationship with another man. So if I’m seen trying to convince the governor to legalize same-sex marriages....” Lex prodded, leaving the rest of the thought unfinished. He was curious to see Clark’s reaction.

The wide-eyed and bewildered expression was softened considerably by Clark’s wobbly, astonished grin. “You want to marry me.”

“I want a life with you,” Lex amended, relieved not to hear a question in Clark’s voice.

“We have a life.”

“And if something happens to me I want to make sure that my father can’t touch you or anything that’s ours.” Lex set the book aside, leaning forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees.

Clark tossed his useless glasses aside, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care about your money, Lex.”

“I know you don’t. But my father does. Since I can’t plan for every one of his schemes, I want you to be protected no matter what.”

“What if I don’t want to marry you? Did you think about that?”

Clark’s expression was so serious that Lex honestly couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not at first. Of course, then Clark’s deplorable poker face started to peek through the cracks and his fears vanished.

“Do you want to marry me?”

The smile Clark flashed was brilliant and erased any worries Lex had. While he had no plans to marry Clark in the immediate future, he liked the idea that the option was there. That as soon as Kansas entered the 21st century, he and Clark could get married. Given his earlier disastrous forays into matrimony, Lex was surprised by how much he enjoyed his and Clark’s rather domesticated life.

“Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

Lex inclined his head briefly, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Between them, Lex and Martha eventually coax Clark back into the farmhouse. They all sit together and eat lunch, with Lex and Martha carrying the bulk of the conversation. Clark barely reacts at all, methodically eating everything put before him. Lex watches Clark, trying his best not to be too obvious. It’s an utter failure judging from the knowing look on Martha’s face. Clark is still oblivious, his attention focused solely on his food.

Without Clark’s participation in the conversation, Lex can’t think of any reason to linger after dinner. He loves spending time with Martha, but the situation is awkward with the large Clark-shaped elephant in the room. She may understand why he brought down the Justice League, but Lex doesn’t believe that she’s accepted it yet. Like him, she’s just grateful that they have Clark back.

“I don’t need all this food, Martha,” Lex insists, chuckling as he watches her put together a large care package for him. “The mansion has a fully stocked kitchen.”

The look Martha gives him is the one perfected by all mothers. With just a look she lets him know how adorable it is that he thinks he can fend for himself.

“You haven’t even set foot in the mansion for months, Lex,” she reminds him as she adds some of the leftover cobbler to the growing pile of Tupperware. “I’d rather you have fresh meals waiting to be reheated in case you end up staying longer than expected.”

Lex has no actual timetable, but Martha’s meaning is clear. They’re both on Clark’s timetable at the moment. It’s still impossible to tell just how much of Clark actually survived the battle, and until he’s sure that Clark’s okay, Lex plans on staying nearby. Whether Clark ever truly forgives him is another matter entirely.

“Thank you, Martha.” Lex leans in to brush a kiss against her cheek. “For everything.”

Lex takes the containers and loads them into the passenger seat of his Ferrari. There’s no way Clark will come back to the mansion with him so soon, so Lex doesn’t even pretend that it’s possible. Still, he wants to see Clark once more before he goes. He hesitates for a moment before heading back into the barn. Almost as soon as dessert was done, Clark had disappeared into his childhood fortress. Back to the safety and security it offered.

Instead of hiding away in the loft, Clark is seated halfway up the stairs, forearms resting on his knees. He seems utterly lost in thought, his gaze focused somewhere beyond the sporadic fumbling of his fingers.

“Clark....” It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask Clark to return to the mansion with him, despite the futility of the offer. At the very last moment, Lex bites his tongue. It’ll be better if Clark returns on his own. At least then he’ll known it’s not forced. That Clark truly came back to him because it’s what he wants.... Lex just hopes that he’s still what Clark wants.

Lex slowly crosses towards him, struggling to figure out just what he wants to say. After brief consideration, he takes up position directly across from Clark, leaning against a post.

“I’ll be staying at the mansion for a while. There are some experiments going on at the plant that I want to oversee personally.” They both know it’s a lie, but Lex is glad that Clark doesn’t call him on it. “I’ll see you later, Clark.”

Lex is just pushing himself away from the post when Clark looks up. For a moment their eyes lock and Lex is relieved to see some kind of spark in them.

“Leave the balcony unlocked?”

“Always.”


End file.
